The Blood Within the Stone

Chapter 2

2

Higgs had been with Wilt when he was given the task. Higgs was always with him, ever since he’d caught the small boy trying to lift his purse from his belt. He’d felt a familiar tickle, snapped his hand out, and clung on as the little whelp struggled and screamed. Another street rat; Greystone was infested with kids left to fend for themselves, scrounging a living from what little they could steal. He’d pulled his arm back to knock some sense into this one, quieten his screaming, but something had stopped him. Perhaps a memory of his own time scurrying in the streets, thin and desperate and hungry. Always hungry. Or maybe it was the look in the boy’s eyes, the defiant glint that shone out through the caked-on grime.

So he’d fed the kid, helped him find somewhere relatively safe to sleep at night, and suddenly found himself with a shadow, always following him about. He’d protested at first, not wanting anyone to hold him back, mess up his schemes. But on their second night of sharing the same bare room, Higgs had fed them both. He walked in with a crate stacked with meat and bread, destined for the duke’s palace but waylaid halfway down Traders Way and somehow ending up in Higgs’s eager hands. Wilt had eaten his fill for the first time in months, and during the meal Higgs had informed him they were now partners. It was as simple as that.

That was months, perhaps even years ago. It was difficult to keep track of time when you lived hand to mouth, waking each morning wondering whether you’d go to sleep hungry again that night. His test was supposed to put an end to all of that.

Three days prior they’d been down at the riverside, slinging rocks into the river for nothing more than fun. It was their usual hangout on the off hours, when Traders Way was too bare to bother with its pickings, or when they’d had a good score the night before and could afford to spend time just being boys again.

Wilt had a natural affinity with the sling; it was the first and only weapon he’d learned to use. The only one he’d ever felt comfortable wielding. Some of the other thieves had daggers and knives, but Wilt knew better than to carry that sort of hardware. If a guard caught you with one of those, you were sent straight to the dungeons for a week at least, and who knew what you’d look like when you came out. If you ever came out. A sling could quickly become a scarf or a belt when the guards caught up with you.

Of course, if they never caught up with you, that was something else entirely.

He’d been trying to impress Higgs with the advantages of the sling. All he’d needed was a length of cloth, or even better a belt or strap of soft leather. Then whatever he could find for ammunition: rocks in this case, rotten fruit more often than not inside the city walls.

He’d been pleasantly surprised by Higgs’s ability to find good slinging stones, but when it came to being able to wield the sling itself, Higgs was taking some time to learn the basics.

‘Argh!’ Higgs screamed in frustration as his third stone went flying straight up into the sky.

Wilt kept his eye on it as it arced above them. The last two had landed a little too close for comfort. ‘You’re loosing them too late.’

Higgs muttered something under his breath and bent down to grab another perfect stone.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’ Higgs spun his sling quickly and loosed his stone, this one splashing straight down into the water at his feet.

‘Too early.’

‘Thanks, genius, I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Don’t get angry with me. Just focus on what you’re doing. You’ll get it eventually.’

Higgs muttered some more insults under his breath and bent down for another stone.

Wilt smiled to himself and gazed out over the river, toward the far bank where the Tangle waited, its green depths silently swaying. Beckoning to him. A shiver ran up his spine as he stared into it. The Tangle. Wild and unknown. Growing ever closer to the walls each year, waiting to consume the city.

Another splash, this time a few metres out into the river, pulled his thoughts away and told him Higgs was beginning to find his range.

‘Better.’

He turned away from the river and looked up at the high walls behind them. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their attentions focused in rather than out. In a strange way they knew the Tangle provided more protection than they ever could. Nothing was coming from out there; at least, nothing they could ever be expected to guard against.

Another splash, far out in the centre of the river, grabbed his attention again.

‘That’s great, Higgs. Almost as far as mine.’

‘Almost?’ A new voice answered, its tone tinged with amusement.

Wilt spun around and stood quickly as he saw Lodan standing next to Higgs, the sling dangling from his hands.

Wilt stumbled over his words. ‘I— I mean.’

‘Come then, show me your skill.’ Lodan held the sling out, a grin twisted on his face. Behind him, Higgs was bent over, trying to mask his laughter.

‘I didn’t—’

‘Come.’ Lodan cut him off gently but in a tone that brooked no argument. Lodan was known to all the thieves in Greystone, and most of the regular folk as well. He was a tall, dark-haired man, gentle of face but with a coldness in his eyes that spoke of years spent in the shadows. He was the public face of the Grey Guild, the closest anyone ever got to the guild’s mysterious leader, a figure known only as the Hand.

Wilt scuttled over the river rocks to where Lodan and Higgs stood and grasped the offered sling.

‘Let’s see how far you can sling it then, boy.’ Lodan’s face was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he watched Wilt pick up a rock and begin to spin the sling up to speed.

With a grunt, Wilt snapped the sling loose. At the last second he flicked his wrist, sending every last ounce of force from the sling to the rock. It flew out over the river, arcing high in the air and easily clearing the distance Lodan’s rock had gone.

‘Told you.’ Higgs’s voice was quiet and sure, with a hint of a grin in his words.

Wilt turned back to Lodan, who was still staring at where the rock had disappeared into the river.

‘Huh.’ He turned back to look at Wilt appraisingly. ‘Not bad at all.’

‘That’s nothing, you should see his aim. He can—’

‘That’s enough, Higgs,’ Wilt interrupted, his cheeks beginning to flush red.

‘He can what?’ Lodan’s voice was calm and deep, and he seemed genuinely interested.

‘If you throw a rock out there, he can hit it before it lands,’ Higgs blurted before Wilt could stop him.

‘Can he now? I think I’d like to see that.’ Lodan bent over to grab a rock.

‘Higgs is just boasting, I’m not that—’

Lodan silenced him with a look and bounced the stone in his hand. ‘Show me.’

Wilt didn’t argue; he simply reached down to grab a rock of his own and started to spin the sling.

‘Tell me when,’ Lodan said, his arm c****d and ready.

Wilt began to spin his sling. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

Wilt heard his own quiet tone as though he was listening to someone else. The world seemed to have shut down, all outside noise and movement slowing into a low murmur beneath him. All that he was aware of was the sling moving in his hand, his senses stretched and waiting.

Then there was something more. It was as though he could feel the green of the Tangle waiting for him to act, the breath of the trees held in the silence of the moment, holding the world still for him.

Suddenly Lodan drew back and threw his stone high out over the river. Wilt watched it move in slow motion, its arc clear. It was almost like he read it; no thoughts—stones couldn’t have thoughts, could they?—but the action itself. As though each movement was preordained and therefore obvious. All he had to do was play his part.

For a long moment he waited, enjoying the sense of the world around him slowing, the universe pausing for him, only him—a taut drum waiting to be struck.

He loosed his stone with another low grunt and the world sped back into life. The sounds of the river, the birds high above and the wind in the trees where the Tangle waited—it all came back in a rush as his rock speared toward the one Lodan had thrown. It met the other with a crack and shattered it in mid-air, bits of rock showering down into the river.

Higgs let out a yell of triumph and jumped in the air. Wilt studied the ripples in the water where the rocks had landed, a strange calm having settled around his shoulders. Eventually he turned back to see Lodan studying him.

Wilt shrugged and dropped his head, embarrassed.

‘Great shot,’ Lodan said, holding his hand out to clasp Wilt by the shoulder. ‘You may be just the one we’re looking for.’

The gathering was in a large disused warehouse situated between the markets and the south gate of the town. In happier times, merchants would travel along the Traders Way, the main street that ran from one end of Greystone to the other, stopping off at the markets in the centre of town to buy and sell their goods. And if a few barrel-loads of ale, or a chest or two of cloth, or even a stray wagon of grain were to go missing on the short trek from the gate to the market, well, a smart merchant knew this was the price to pay for the privilege of trading in a place like Greystone. Merchants who weren’t smart, who raised a hue and cry over their missing goods, soon learned the error of their ways. They were bustled straight to the southern gate guardhouse to make a formal complaint. Only once they had left the town altogether did they realise that what had been one missing chest was now five. Any wagons they still had with them were decidedly lighter than they were before.

Now that the times had turned and traffic along the Traders Way had slowed, the Grey Guild too had shrunk in size, their shadows dwarfed in the vastness of the warehouse space they met in. They could also afford to be picky when it came to prospective new members, and so they had come up with the tasks.

Anyone who wanted to join the Grey Guild could, but first they would be tested. In a town the size of Greystone, everyone knew everyone else anyway, so one’s reputation and skills were generally common knowledge by the time they presented to the Fingers as a prospective recruit. This knowledge in turn helped the Grey Guild leaders shape each individual challenge to suit. The tasks were designed to push each thief to the limit, and many had failed to complete theirs. As times got harder and the need for new thieves lessened, the tasks had become harder still.

In fact, no one had been successful in completing their given task in well over a year, since Lodan had come to the fore and introduced harsher restrictions. Word was that the last person to try—and fail—had been Red Charley.

Now it was Wilt’s turn, and it looked like he too had failed.

Wilt stood in the vast warehouse and gazed up at the cracked beams and broken windows that lined the high walls, letting a little light from the grey sky seep into the warehouse. A circle of torches lit the middle of the room where he stood, and the flames marked out various shadows that stood just outside his view. The Fingers. Wilt knew many more faces studied him than he could make out in the dullness.

‘Wilt. You stand before us, yet you have delivered no prize. Explain yourself.’ The voice was Lodan’s, and Wilt recognised the tall silhouette standing to his side.

Wilt stood mute before them and held out his empty hands. ‘I cannot. I—’

‘I can.’

A new voice, all too familiar to Wilt, called out confidently. Red Charley stepped forward into the light, the bundle of rags held triumphantly before him.

‘I knew about your little test for this boy. He did not have the necessary skills to complete it. I did.’ Red Charley unwrapped the bundle and held up the small dagger, grey now in this light.

Lodan’s shadow inclined its head. ‘Is this true, Wilt?’

Red Charley interrupted before Wilt could answer, his voice louder now. ‘I hold the evidence in my hand!’ He raised the dagger higher still and stepped forward, his voice dropping in a low threat. ‘I challenge any who doubt me to speak now.’

Wilt remained mute. Red Charley glared at him, daring him to speak. The silence stretched as Wilt’s mouth moved, but no sound came from his lips.

‘I thought not.’ Red Charley smiled, and turned to the shadows.

‘I challenge.’ Wilt only whispered the words, but they rang out in the silence of the great hall.

‘What?’ Red Charley wheeled around and pointed the dagger at Wilt’s chest.

‘I challenge,’ Wilt repeated, more confidently now, staring into Red Charley’s eyes.

‘As you should, boy. As you should.’

The new voice boomed from the front of the hall and the room fell silent as a large round figure made its way toward them. Finally it entered the circle of light, and Wilt froze as he recognised the face of the blacksmith he had stolen the dagger from.

The blacksmith held out one enormous hand and clapped Wilt on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. ‘After all, you stole it fair and square.’

Lodan’s voice rang out in the silence. ‘Remove this charlatan.’

A scuffle broke out as rough hands seized Red Charley and threw him to the ground. The dagger was jerked from his hands and a gloved hand cuffed his mouth as he was dragged away.

Lodan stepped forward into the circle of light as Red Charley’s feet disappeared into the shadows. ‘Some people never change.’

The blacksmith shook his head as he watched the scene, then slowly turned to Wilt. ‘Now, boy, I believe this is yours.’ The dagger had been handed back to the blacksmith, who now held it out to Wilt.

The young thief studied him warily.

‘It’s all right lad, take it.’

Wilt reached out slowly and took the blade. As soon as his hands touched the hilt, the dagger shone a bright blue, filling the hall with a strange glow.

‘Ah. Good to see that crafter knew what he was doing. Red Charley is just the sort of fool who would try to take credit for the theft of a prize. Each one of them is enchanted—they remember the first hand to touch them and respond again whenever they’re back in that hand’s grasp. Helps avoid just this sort of situation. There now. I think that removes all doubt, don’t you, Lodan?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘A good theft it was too. Didn’t sense this one at all. Read me like a book, didn’t you, boy?’

Wilt stood completely still, hypnotised by the blue glow of the blade in his hand.

‘The glow marks a prize fairly taken by your hand. Lodan, if you would.’

A long thin arm reached out to Wilt. He only hesitated a moment before handing his prize over to Lodan. As soon as it left his hand, the blue glow faded and the blade became a dull uniform grey.

‘Yes. That crafter did know what he was doing.’

Wilt turned toward the blacksmith then, a hundred questions on his tongue.

‘You have questions, lad. Lodan will answer them for you. Congratulations. You are now a member of the Grey Guild.’ The blacksmith turned on his heel and walked into the darkness.

‘But, who are you?’ Wilt called after the retreating shadow.

Lodan’s hand fell on his shoulder. ‘That was Master Turner, boy. You know him as the blacksmith. We know him as the Hand—leader of the Greystone Guild of Thieves.’